When you have nowhere to go, go back to yourself.

I stood there just outside the gate and watched the storm beginning to rage. There was a strange sense of anticipation in the air which made me anxious; almost unmindful of the strong wind and the rain to follow.

I looked at the house for a moment and then searched for my cell phone in my jeans pocket.

“Would you open the doors?” I said when she picked up the phone.

“Oh! You are already here?” She asked, a tinge of surprise laced in her voice. She probably was not expecting me so soon.

I reached early, I told myself. All my life, I have been late though. I always had a strong feeling that I should have been born in the ‘50s but it too was delayed. By two decades, I think. Terrible.

“If it’s begun to rain, it must be me at your doors. I am the Rain Man, remember.” My reply smacked of my self-obsession.

I pushed open the gate and reached the porch. She was not there yet. I stood there in front of the main door. The creepers and climbers had grown longer on the wall, almost covering an entire side of the entrance gate. Soon I could feel little drops of rain on my body. Oh! It’s raining, finally. This has been such a long dry spell.

There was no sign of her yet. I stood there, looked up at the evening sky fast turning dark with clouds getting low. The wind was getting stronger, the rain drops bigger. I stood there waiting for her. Several minutes passed by. Several memories came rushing back.

“How long have you been here?” she suddenly appeared from inside the house.

I looked at her for a few moments. I looked at those deep dark eyes. “A little while ago,” I replied.

“Come on in,” she said.

For a second, I wished she had not showed up. It has been an age since I met her last. My yearning to see her, for a moment, appeared more powerful an emotion than that of the joy of meeting her.

I stepped forward leaving the storm raging outside.

I will meet you yet again

I will meet you yet againHow and where? I know not.Perhaps I will become afigment of your imaginationand maybe, spreading myselfin a mysterious lineon your canvas,I will keep gazing at you.Perhaps I will become a rayof sunshine, to beembraced by your colours.I will paint myself on your canvasI know not how and where –but I will meet you for sure.Maybe I will turn into a spring,and rub the foamingdrops of water on your body,and rest my coolness onyour burning skin.I know nothing elsebut that this lifewill walk along with me.When the body perishes,all perishes;but the threads of memoryare woven with enduring specks.I will pick these particles,weave the threads,and I will meet you yet again…. Main Tenu Phir Milangi by Amrita Pritam

Hey man, I am moved. This calls for a standing ovation. And I am standing. Also the picture is fascinating. It can win a competition if I a judge. Seriously! Can I use it for my next blog post. I will give you credit for it. Let me know. Cheers and God bless!

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